Chapter II #3
The way Jane regarded her, Elizabeth knew her sister would not respond.
It was Elizabeth’s choice whether she would reveal the truth of what had happened between them, and for once, Elizabeth decided she was not eager to share it.
Though she had never considered it before, the notion of hating a man forever for one careless—or even unkind—comment made months earlier was not the action of a rational woman.
Yet, she could not just refuse to speak, for the colonel had asked her a direct question.
Thus, Elizabeth opted for truth, but not complete transparency.
“I have no injuries to resent, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” said Elizabeth, noting Jane’s approving nod.
“Mr. Darcy was silent and uncommunicative, but he was always proper. On several occasions, we crossed verbal swords, and while I did not always agree with Mr. Darcy, I always understood and respected his opinion, even when I thought pride dictated it.”
By Colonel Fitzwilliam’s steady gaze, Elizabeth suspected he had inferred more than she had intended to say. The direction of his interpretation, however, took her by surprise.
“That is curious, Miss Elizabeth. Darcy has his fair share of pride, but his willingness to engage with you in these discussions you mentioned tells me something more of how he sees you than you realize.”
Confused, Elizabeth said: “What do you mean?”
“Darcy’s practice is to ignore those he does not find interesting—or does not like. That he was willing to debate with you shows that he not only respects your opinion, but he finds you interesting, even when he does not know why.”
That was a surprise, and Elizabeth knew it was reflected on her face. The colonel smiled at her, one of true amusement and a little knowing.
“Do not apologize, Miss Elizabeth; I understand how those who do not know Darcy might perceive his behavior. Darcy is not a warm man to those he does not know well, but once he decides to befriend someone, that friendship is unshakable. I suspect you have not told me all about your experiences with Darcy, but I will not press. However, do not suppose that I do not see Darcy’s flaws just because I am a close relation and companion of many years. ”
“This is quite curious, indeed!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “You are higher than they by any standard, yet other than Mr. Bingley, you are much less pretentious.”
The colonel’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “Perhaps I have just seen too much of the world to put any stock in such things.”
“That is what I like about you,” said Jane, a daring comment for her. “When another is all pride and vanity, I find they have little to say that interests me.” Jane paused and colored a little. “I did not discover that about Miss Bingley until it was far too late.”
“I hope you do not consider me a poor substitute for Bingley,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Jane looked into his eyes, and for a moment, Elizabeth thought they had both forgotten about her presence altogether. Then she offered a shy smile and looked away.
“Not at all, Colonel. I hope you are happy here.”
“Yes, Miss Bennet, I am.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s expression was warm, a caress that told Elizabeth that he was a man who admired a woman, even after so short an acquaintance.
But there was something about him that encouraged Elizabeth, something mature and eager all at once.
Now that she saw the difference, she could discern the infatuated eagerness that characterized Mr. Bingley’s interest compared with the colonel’s more mature connection with Jane.
It was like watching a child of ten writing his letters compared with one of only five, forming them for the first time.
It was as if Mr. Bingley saw a beautiful girl and admired her, though his emotions were not adult enough to esteem her properly.
The colonel had no such shortcomings—his esteem was still new but already carried a depth that Mr. Bingley had never attained.
“I am quite comfortable in Hertfordshire, Miss Bennet,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Though this injury is inconvenient, I am now in the company of those I esteem. Given the situation, I could not ask for anything more.”
“Then we appreciate your presence, Colonel,” said Elizabeth. “If you will excuse me, you have given me much on which to think.”
The colonel smiled, but he did nothing more than nod at Elizabeth as she excused herself, his attention already fixed on Jane.
Elizabeth went to the pianoforte and began to play softly, almost absently, though she paid much more attention to her thoughts than her fingers on the keys.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had given her much to consider, especially concerning Mr. Darcy.
While part of her wanted to believe the colonel’s impression of his cousin was colored by his close connection, she could not discount his honesty or the confession of a man who was, after all, in a position to know Mr. Darcy intimately.
Perhaps there was more to the gentleman than the pride and conceit she had always thought were the foundations of his character.